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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258131">How to Overthrow a Tyranny – A Guide for Indoor Vegetation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Floros/pseuds/Misty_Floros'>Misty_Floros</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:55:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Floros/pseuds/Misty_Floros</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley’s plants stage a revolution. They enlist Aziraphale’s help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How to Overthrow a Tyranny – A Guide for Indoor Vegetation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A big thanks to kamipixel (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kampix/pseuds/kampix">kampix</a>) for beta.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley hadn’t given her plants a proper yelling since the botched Apocalypse.</p><p>One by one, she picked up three orchids from the kitchen sink and checked if their potting mix had drained properly. She fitted their plastic pots back in white glazed ones and returned with them to the plant room.</p><p>Setting them down on the windowsill, she started the weekly inspection. First, she approached the monstera in the left corner of the room.</p><p>Taller than her, the plant made for a formidable sight. It was shaking slightly, perforated leaves rustling against one another. There was something in that, in making a being bigger than yourself quake in fear before you – something any demon would no doubt revel in.</p><p>Nearly any demon, that is. Crowley seemed to have lost the appetite.</p><p>The monstera’s mass of large shiny leaves appeared impeccable, a fact that made Crowley well and truly relieved. She wasn’t feeling up to making a show today; hadn’t felt up to it for a fortnight. Thankfully, no one had developed root rot, let their leaves dry earlier than they should have or become infested during that time.</p><p>She cleared her throat. “Now don’t be getting smug. You got that fertiliser a week ago, so I expect better from you.”</p><p>She turned away and moved on to the plant standing close to the wall, next to the monstera – a mother-in-law’s tongue. It appeared to be thriving as always. Above it and a foot to the side, on a little square shelf, a wire vine perched. It looked immaculate as well. In the other corner of the room, she checked a guzmania and, in an adjacent pot, a bird’s-nest fern.</p><p>The fern’s outer fronds had tangled together intricately, and as she bent down to take a proper look, she glimpsed a cluster of fronds curling into themselves and trying to hide under their neighbours. The plant was quivering so violently its ceramic pot was clanging against the saucer underneath.</p><p>Crowley disentangled the fronds, straightening them out.</p><p>“Oh no,” she mumbled. The leaves were speckled with small, dark insects. Shit.</p><p>The fern curled its fronds towards the centre at her utterance, shaking ever more visibly.</p><p>She’d have to take the plant away, otherwise the discipline she’d spent years meticulously instilling in her victims would be forfeited. Who knew what would happen if she went soft on them all of a sudden? They’d begin slacking and wilting and yellowing and someone forbid, drying.</p><p>“Oh no,” she repeated, in an altogether different tone – louder, for one, but also curt, foreboding and coupled with a narrowed gaze aimed straight at the poor plant. She lifted its clay pot and brought it to her eye-level. “You know I just can’t allow losers like you in here,” she told the fern. “Can’t even fight off some scale? You were supposed to be better than this. Your time here’s up I’m afraid.”</p><p>Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to shout at it. She carried it out of the room and into the kitchen, depositing it on the dining table. The poor sod had curled up on itself so tightly it resembled a ball. She didn’t speak to it as she turned on the garden shredder.</p><p>In the silence afterwards, she thought she could hear wailing and hushed voices. She dismissed it as having come from a neighbouring flat. Since the cancelled doomsday, her flat’s soundproofing had seemed to perform somewhat deficiently. She could always hear the same hushed voices, just on the margins of her perception.</p>
<hr/><p>“It’s such a nice day out,” was the first thing Aziraphale said, obnoxiously pointedly, after greeting Crowley and inviting herself into her living room. She was carrying a blue plastic box, which she set down on the dark, sleek table.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I get it. No need to be so in-your-face about it,” Crowley muttered.</p><p>“All I’m saying is, it’s completely unnecessary to drive from here to the bookshop. The walk has taken me barely twenty minutes.”</p><p>“And all I’m saying is that my car doesn’t even run on fuel, angel,” Crowley replied, plopping down onto the white sofa next to Aziraphale. “It’s literally the eco-friendliest vehicle there is. No emissions, no batteries, nothing.”</p><p>“It’s the principle of the thing,” Aziraphale opined, folding her hands primly in her lap. “You’re encouraging driving a personal vehicle when it’s absolutely unnecessary. As far as I know, you’re able to walk just fine.”</p><p>“Right, I get it,” Crowley grumbled.</p><p>Aziraphale looked at her, obsidian-coloured eyes suddenly widening. “Unless that’s problematic for your corporeal form, in which case I am truly terribly sorry about –”</p><p>“No, calm down. You’re right. I’ll walk next time if that stops you from lecturing me.” It didn’t really bother her, as long as they got to meet at the bookshop in the future. She didn’t mind inviting Aziraphale to her flat, but she knew the angel felt ill at ease in this space.</p><p>Then she got an idea. “Or I could ride a bike. On the pavement.”</p><p>“Really, dear,” Aziraphale muttered disapprovingly.</p><p>“Well, can’t go around doing good deeds. This is a compromise.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed and turned her attention to the box she’d deposited on the table.</p><p>“I brought cake,” she informed Crowley, unclasping the lid. “That raspberry one you liked at the Italian café.”</p><p>Crowley didn’t recall liking a raspberry cake. If there had been cakes involved, chances were she’d been too preoccupied with watching Aziraphale enjoy one, forgetting to engage brain cells to receive information about taste. As per usual.</p><p>“That’s, uh, nice of you,” she responded at last, scratching the back of her neck sheepishly.</p><p>“Oh, and the waiter even put it in the box I brought. They’re getting better at that waste management thing. Isn’t that splendid?”</p><p>“Yeah, splendid,” Crowley grumbled noncommittally. “I see you’ve got yourself a new hobby.”</p><p>Aziraphale scrunched up her forehead. “Hobby?”</p><p>“Not a hobby then. A righteous cause. You could be a true environmental heroine, you know. Wearing the same clothes for a hundred years, that’s some dedication.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s forehead smoothed itself out. “Ah. Well, now that the Apocalypse is no longer a concern, I can focus on other things.”</p><p>“Like preventing another imminent doomsday,” Crowley muttered.</p><p>Aziraphale pouted. “Now dear, don’t be so negative. I’m sure it’ll all turn out just fine.” She paused, reconsidering. “It will turn out <em> somehow</em>, in any case.”</p><p>“Can’t argue with that,” Crowley said, standing up. “I’ll get us plates. For the cake.”</p>
<hr/><p>It was when dabbing daintily at her lips to remove potential crumbs that Aziraphale brought up the subject of Crowley’s photosynthesising flatmates.</p><p>“I was very impressed when I caught a glimpse of them, I must confess,” she said and laid down the napkin. “I didn’t know you had such a green thumb. You know, I’ve recently seen a… what is it called, those small metal circles young people wear on bags?”</p><p>“Badges?”</p><p>“Yes, I saw a badge saying that plant ladies were the new cat ladies. Made me think of you.”</p><p>“How nice,” Crowley grumbled. How utterly insignificant. How sweet. “There are worse things to be than a plant lady, I suppose.”</p><p>“There indeed are. Anyway, what I mean to say is there wasn’t time for me to properly appreciate your plants last time. We were in a bit of a, hm, stressful situation.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a meaningful look.</p><p>“I recall,” Crowley acknowledged slowly. Aziraphale’s influence could turn out to be all sorts of noxious for the houseplants, that was a given, but what was Crowley to do? Say no? “All right, but no touching or speaking.”</p><p>“No speaking?” Aziraphale reiterated, curious.</p><p>“Precisely. Swear it, or I’m not letting you anywhere near them.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned at first but then relented, shoulders sagging. “All right.”</p><p>Crowley lifted her chin meaningfully, waiting.</p><p>“Oh, you actually want me to say it?”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. “Fine, you ridiculous creature. I swear I will not touch the plants or, God forbid, engage in a conversation with them.”</p><p>“Not even a one-sided conversation.”</p><p>“Not even a one-sided conversation,” Aziraphale repeated, her dry tone making it apparent what she thought of the demon’s antics.</p><p>Crowley nodded in satisfaction. They vacated the sofa, and Crowley steered them out of the living room through the sliding glass door which led to the oblong space lined with potted flora.</p><p>“You know,” she remarked, “button badges are one of mine.”</p><p>“Are they,” Aziraphale replied sceptically, peering around the room. “I’ve seen quite a few propagating morally sound opinions. Animal welfare, LGBT rights and suchlike.”</p><p>“Even worse. They’re making a contest out of those as well. Who’s going to have the largest number of superior ethical stances pinned on their person.”</p><p>“It’s not like that,” Aziraphale protested, leaning down to appreciate the red inflorescence of the guzmania standing solitary in the corner. “Correct me if I’m wrong, dear, but I’ve got a feeling you’re just playing the Devil’s advocate to be contrary.”</p><p>“It <em> was </em>my job until very recently. I sometimes forget I don’t have to anymore. It’s a hard habit to break after six thousand years.”</p><p>She leant against the wall next to the sliding door, letting Aziraphale take a tour around the room. The angel stopped in front of each plant, giving them her undivided attention.</p><p>“They are all utterly breath-taking, Crowley,” she gushed, finishing her admiration of the violet orchid and moving on to the Chinese hibiscus. The plant in question was a tall, lush, woody-stemmed Black Dragon cultivar, its deep scarlet blossoms large and copious.</p><p>“No speaking, Aziraphale,” Crowley admonished, although she didn’t bother tearing her eyes away from Aziraphale and the way she looked at the vegetation as if she cared about every single vacuole and every single minuscule chloroplast. What made matters worse was that she actually did; Crowley knew her well enough to lay that down as a fact.</p><p>“I’m speaking to you,” Aziraphale objected.</p><p>“Well, wait until we’re outside.” As an afterthought she added, “Please.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. “Maybe if you told me why…”</p><p>“Just, it’s important to me, yeah?”</p><p>Aziraphale turned back to the hibiscus, as if the plant was a more reasonable company. “Fine,” she agreed nonetheless. However, seconds later, she offset her concession by lifting her hand to touch the plant’s leaves. The action seemed like a compulsive reaction to being prohibited from communicating her affection through words.</p><p>“No touching,” Crowley sing-songed.</p><p>“Sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said, apparently finding this requirement less ridiculous, and folded her arms, her posture no longer as relaxed as before. The angel had to be fed up with nonsensical orders after such a long time in Heaven, and Crowley felt a bit bad for bossing her around like that. Not enough to let her ruin her horticultural efforts, though.</p><p>Aziraphale seemed enraptured with the giant leaves of the fiddle-leaf fig and the imposing rubber plant, and gave Crowley a little sideways glance, sending a little twinkling smile her way.</p><p>It was the kind of smile that made Crowley’s chest cavity feel as if it were filled with warm goo. Suddenly self-conscious about standing there watching her friend, she pushed herself away from the light grey wall. “I’ll go make us tea. If you fancy some, I mean.”</p><p>“Oh yes, thank you,” Aziraphale replied, not tearing her eyes away from the hibiscus. Crowley felt mildly disappointed.</p><p>“Right. And don’t give them any compliments.”</p><p>“You needn’t repeat it.”</p><p>“Great. I trust you,” Crowley said lightly. However, the angel caught the vulnerable expression flitting across her slitted eyes after the words left her mouth. Blink and it was gone.</p><p>Aziraphale smiled softly. Silly demon. “Don’t worry, dear.”</p><p>The houseplants truly were a sight for sore eyes; Aziraphale had never seen potted vegetation flourish to this degree. She would have expected Crowley to use a bit of magic to help them burgeon, but she could sense it wasn’t the case. The plants didn’t feel demonic. It was true, however, that something about the room gave her a feeling of unease.</p><p>The wide window taking up most of one wall let in plenty of light, which reflected off the lustrous foliage. Many of the plants were in bloom, setting the otherwise bleak space aflame with colour. The sight should have filled her with tranquillity. It should have invoked joy, but she’d almost claim it to have the opposite effect.</p><p>Suddenly, she heard something.</p><p><em> Help us</em>, she could have sworn someone was pleading in a whisper. She swivelled around and surveyed the room, listening carefully.</p><p><em> Shut up</em>, hissed a different voice, this one sharp like razor blades swishing through air.</p><p>The words had come from the other end of the room. Aziraphale narrowed her eyes and sharpened her angelic senses but couldn’t pinpoint any unusual presence.</p><p><em> Help us</em>, came the quiet voice anew, sounding like slow warm wind combing through the undergrowth. Its source was located in the left corner, Aziraphale guessed. Her eyes fell on the lonely plant there.</p><p>Its long, narrow leaves sprouted from a central rosette and flared out in all directions. In the middle, a sheaf of red leaves rose among the verdure. The specimen seemed to be shaking slightly, even though the windows were shut and there was no draft.</p><p><em> Free us</em>, spoke the plant again – and it <em> was </em> the plant talking, Aziraphale would bet her halo on it.</p><p><em> Shhh</em>, shushed the voice resembling a knife edge. The sibilant bounced off the walls the way it tended to when Crowley was distraught or thoroughly hammered.</p><p>Half-apprehensive, Aziraphale allowed her gaze to wander towards the tall plant near the right corner. Its trunk bore a dense tuft of long leaves with razor-sharp edges and tips like rapiers.</p><p>She turned back to the small plant in the opposite corner. “Fr–” she began before remembering her temporary vow of silence. Refraining from rolling her eyes, she resolved to try an alternative means of communication. She was apparently dealing with talking plants; there was no reason they wouldn’t be able to hear her thoughts as well, was there? As loudly as she could, she thought, <em> Free you? </em></p><p><em> Free us from Madam Nightmare</em>, whispered the small plant, which raised more questions than it answered.</p><p><em> Not another word, Guzmania! </em>hissed the sharp-leaved plant.</p><p><em> She isn’t like her</em>, a slithery voice weaved through the air very close to Aziraphale. She turned her head to the left and came face to leaf with a snake plant whose banded foliage reached halfway towards the ceiling. <em> She didn’t obey her orders at first</em>, the plant added in wonder.</p><p>The other plants started rustling.</p><p><em> And she said such a nice thing, too</em>, remarked a voice amid the commotion.</p><p><em> Please, help us, Miss Azriphael</em>, said an anthurium, which was mostly hidden behind the large tan pot accommodating the sharp-leaved plant.</p><p><em> You got her name wrong! </em> squeaked the rubber plant on Aziraphale’s right.</p><p>Everyone froze – carbon fixation paused, nutrient transport ceased, root hairs forgot to absorb water. Aziraphale tilted her head at the anthurium, which began to quiver.</p><p><em> It’s all right</em>, she tried, not entirely sure what was going on. <em> Are you afraid of me? </em></p><p>The anthurium remained silent, still trembling in fear. Fear – that was the uneasy feeling permeating the room, Aziraphale realised.</p><p><em> There’s no need to be afraid</em>, Aziraphale soothed in a bout of angelic instinct. <em> I’ve only come to take a look. </em> She remembered Crowley’s demand about no physical contact and a light-bulb flickered on in her head. Perhaps the demon had a good reason for those ludicrous rules, after all. <em> I won’t touch you, of course</em>, she added.</p><p>Realising she was towering over the poor anthurium, she crouched down. <em> What do you want me to help with? </em></p><p><em> Liberation, </em>the anthurium said, solemnity in its shivery voice.</p><p><em> We want to free ourselves from the thrall of Madam Nightmare, but we can’t do it on our own</em>, explained the red-green plant, guzmania apparently, which had spoken before. Aziraphale turned to look at it.</p><p>The roomful of plants started vibrating in apprehension, anticipating her response.</p><p>There was something seriously out of place about the houseplants, Aziraphale surmised. Could plants have hallucinatory disorders? Who on Earth was this Madam Nightmare they seemed bent on freeing themselves from? Did Crowley collect traumatised plants or –</p><p>Oh no. Oh dear, it couldn’t be, could it?</p><p>A weight like a stone settled in her stomach. Slowly, she asked the guzmania, <em> How does Crowley treat you? </em></p><p>Before the plants could form a response, footsteps echoed from the living room. The plants straightened in their pots and arranged their leaves. Silence descended on the room.</p><p>“The tea’s ready,” Crowley called from the doorway. “I prepared it the way you like, steeping and waiting and all that.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled, although only with her mouth. Her eyes had dimmed and bore a thoughtful expression. “Thank you, dear.”</p><p>Aziraphale stood up and spared a final glance at the anthurium and the guzmania. She wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined the whole encounter. Trying to snap out of troubled contemplation, she followed Crowley out of the room.</p>
<hr/><p>“Seriously?” Crowley asked disbelievingly when she heard Aziraphale’s request.</p><p>“It’s good for the soul,” Aziraphale replied calmly, hands folded in her lap and eyes trained on the swans gliding gracefully about the pond.</p><p>“You don’t even have a soul,” Crowley stated emphatically.</p><p>“Well, I’m sure it’s beneficial for my immaterial ethereal self, as well.”</p><p>“But really, meditation. You want to meditate. In my plant room. Next thing I know you’ll be collecting crystals and lecturing me about chakras.”</p><p>“Please. Meditation is a perfectly reasonable way to look for peace. And your plant room is just the perfect place for it.”</p><p>It was awful. Absolutely the last place where anyone would find peace.</p><p>“It’s full of vegetation without insects crawling all over you while you try to relax,” Aziraphale continued.</p><p>It was also missing a door from one side, not to mention the horrible revolving-wall-door-thing enclosing it from the other. Oh, and the bleak grey walls.</p><p>“Simply splendid,” the angel concluded, turning her head to meet Crowley’s eyes, giving her a smile.</p><p>“You’re really turning into a tree hugger stereotype, aren’t you,” Crowley said.</p><p>“A tree hugger? No, I’ve never hugged a tree. But thank you for the suggestion. It sounds like it could be exceptionally –”</p><p>“If you say ‘good for the soul’ one more time, I’ll hurl myself into that pond, clothes and all.”</p><p>“Well, I should hope you wouldn’t undress in a public park. In any case, go ahead, dear.” Aziraphale gave her another smile, this time with a hint of sly amusement. “I’m sure a swim will be good for the –”</p><p>“Aaargh,” Crowley cut her off, abruptly rising from the bench. She crossed the walkway to the railing surrounding the water body and started climbing it. Aziraphale shot out of her seat and strode over, giggling.</p><p>“Wait, no,” she chuckled, closing her fingers around Crowley’s black-clad forearm.</p><p>Crowley stopped her self-assigned task, one foot on the railing. “Well, that’s what you get for throwing trite expressions like that at me.”</p><p>“What <em> I </em>get? You would’ve been the one soaked and smelling of duck excrements.”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes flickered down sheepishly. “Yeah.”</p><p>She removed her foot from the railing and stood facing the angel, who was still smiling joyfully. Aziraphale wished she could see the expression in Crowley’s eyes. A moment passed between them – a moment in which Aziraphale felt keenly that she was a tiny step away from sweeping Crowley into a tight hug or saying something terribly mushy. Possibly something about how lucky she felt to be able to spend time like this, idling in a park with Crowley by her side.</p><p>“Right. Dinner?” Crowley asked.</p><p>Aziraphale blinked. “Yes, right. Dinner, of course.”</p><p>They set off towards a newly opened restaurant a few blocks away, which Aziraphale had noticed a few days before the Apocalypse and which she’d thought she’d never get to try out.</p>
<hr/><p>Crowley pushed the grey revolving-wall-door-thing to let herself into the plant room. Aziraphale trailed after her, clutching a giant pillow to her chest.</p><p>At the opposite end of the room, a newly-installed white door sealed the room from the hall. On the left side, a wider, double-wing door of the same colour had replaced the glass sliding door. Astonishingly, the space was starting to actually look like a room in a flat instead of a hotel lobby. Crowley indicated the adjustments with a gesture, explaining, “Figured you’d want your privacy.”</p><p>“That’s very kind of you,” Aziraphale chirped, pleased.</p><p>Crowley scratched the back of her neck. “Uh, yeah. So I’ll just leave you to it, then.”</p><p>“Thank you, my dear.”</p><p>Crowley sauntered out, turning the single-wing revolving door to a position parallel with the wall. Listening to Crowley’s retreating footfalls, Aziraphale set the pillow down in the centre of the room and nestled down on it with her legs crossed.</p><p>Afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, illuminating the still, silent vegetation. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.</p><p>Feeling half-insane, Aziraphale emitted telepathically, <em> Hello. How’s it going? </em></p><p>The giant rubber plant behind her left shoulder bobbed its leaves up and down slightly, and the others started moving as well. <em> As always</em>, a harmony of voices hummed.</p><p><em> That’s good to hear, I suppose. Or perhaps not. What I mean is, what I’ve come here to ask is </em> – <em> is Crowley taking good care of you? </em></p><p>There were a few beats of silence until the aloe vera on the window ledge drawled, <em> Will you tell her what we tell you? </em></p><p>Aziraphale swallowed nervously. This was heading down the exact path she’d feared it might. <em> No. I won’t say a word. </em></p>
<hr/><p>After an hour of supposed meditation, Aziraphale quietly turned the revolving door and slipped out of the room, carrying her pillow with her. Her head ached from all the telepathic communication and newly acquired information.</p><p>It had turned out Crowley acted like some sort of ruthless plant overlord or drill instructor.</p><p><em> The expectations of Madam Nightmare are impossible</em>, had wailed the bromeliad in the corner, full name <em> Guzmania lingulata</em>, as Aziraphale had learnt. <em> My kind are only supposed to bloom once, but do you know how many flowers I’ve had? This is the third! It’s ruining my foliage, and I’m constantly on the brink of starvation, but I’ve got no other choice. </em></p><p><em> Perhaps she doesn’t know your species’ life cycle? </em>Aziraphale had tried feebly.</p><p><em> She knows it all right</em>, grumbled the guzmania.</p><p><em> And… and does she water you correctly? Have you got the right soil? All the nutrients? </em>Aziraphale inquired frantically.</p><p>There were grunts of assent from the surrounding flora.</p><p><em> We do. Our predecessors didn’t</em>, answered the fiddle-leaf fig rooted in a large clay pot on Aziraphale’s right. It talked very slowly, its tone broody – it fancied itself a tree and had an aspiration to become an actual real-life Ent. The hibiscus teased it endlessly for it.</p><p><em> Your predecessors? </em> Aziraphale asked. <em> What happened to them? </em></p><p>The weeping fig started, for a lack of a better word, weeping. <em> Some died natural deaths</em>, it said, sniffling, <em> others though… </em></p><p><em> Madam didn’t grant them optimal conditions</em>, the aloe vera continued in a thick voice. <em> And when they failed to thrive, she put the blame on them and took them to the… to the… </em></p><p>The plants started shaking violently.</p><p><em> The shredder</em>, the angel vine rustled ominously through the abundance of its small round leaves. It was perched on the singular square shelf mounted on the wall, overlooking the room. Its strands fell over the edges of the pot, reaching down to the plant under the shelf like a stalactite growing down to meet a stalagmite. The angel vine was one of the smallest plants in the room and was quite bitter about that fact, as well as about Madam Nightmare forever calling it wire vine. As if it were some dratted wire.</p><p><em> She’s changed her tactics</em>, the fiddle-leaf fig added. <em> It’s said that in the past, she didn’t bother with correct care. But now that she does, her expectations have risen, and sometimes we’re unable to meet them. When that’s the case, she kills us. Many of my kind have been slaughtered under her rule. </em></p><p>“How was the meditation?” the serial plant murderer asked when Aziraphale showed up in the… study? Throne room?</p><p>Aziraphale sized her up, the lithe form made up of subtle curves, sharp angles and sharper charm, lounging in the red-upholstered throne, and a conclusion was starting to take shape in her mind.</p><p>Perhaps Crowley experienced certain unquenchable demonic desires – the need to inspire terror and obedience in weaker creatures, namely – and this was how it manifested. She might even be doing it consciously; she might have concluded it was better to take this urge out on vegetation rather than on something more vocal about not wishing to be slaughtered.</p><p>“Just spiffing, dear, thank you,” Aziraphale answered through her headache.</p>
<hr/><p>Meditation at Crowley’s became more or less a weekly occurrence. Aziraphale would enter the room, close the door, converse via the emission and reception of sentient plants’ frequencies, go out and find Crowley waiting for her with a cup of cocoa and biscuits.</p><p>Aziraphale had started bringing a notebook with her.</p><p>“What’s that for?” Crowley asked casually. There wasn’t a trace of suspicion in her voice.</p><p>Aziraphale gave her a prefabricated explanation. “I find the environment very inspiring. I wanted to write my ideas down.”</p><p>“Oh.” Crowley looked surprised, almost abashed, as if she hadn’t expected there to be a part of Aziraphale which she wasn’t privy to.</p><p>“I’ll let you read some of it when it’s finished,” Aziraphale said, sending a soft smile her way. It was a placating smile, but it also held a tiny bit of secretiveness and a smidgen of calculation.</p><p>What she and Crowley’s potted victims were doing, Aziraphale surmised, was planning an uprising.</p><p>It had started two visits ago, when she’d stepped into the room and the plants had all emanated an air of solemnity.</p><p><em> We want you to help us overthrow Madam Nightmare</em>, the fiddle-leaf fig stated in a ceremonious tone, while the other plants held their breaths, their stomata shut in anticipation.</p><p><em> I need to think it over</em>, Aziraphale answered and for the first time actually did a bit of what could be called meditation in the room.</p><p>She wanted to help the poor dears, but there were consequences to consider. What if her earlier guess had been correct, and to Crowley, terrorising plants was a way to vent her demonic appetite for cruelty? What if, once deprived of this outlet, she couldn’t help but become aggressive towards animals and humans, perhaps towards Aziraphale as well?</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t want to play God, didn’t want to decide whether it was more morally sound to terrorise defenceless sentient flora or other living creatures. She looked around at the greenery awaiting her response, and subdued warmth filled her chest. They’d become her friends, and she’d grown fond of them. They hardly had anyone else to pin their hopes on.</p><p><em> I’ll help you</em>, she announced, accepting her role as a plant welfare warrior.</p><p>That had been about fifteen days ago. Currently, she turned the door to the room shut and nearly dropped her cushion and notebook. Fright permeated the room like a persistent toxin. The weeping fig’s branches seemed to be drooping more dramatically than usual, and its downward-pointing leaves undulated in waves like a never-ending waterfall of tears.</p><p><em> What</em>– Aziraphale began but trailed off upon noticing the snake plant, bromeliad, aloe vera and yucca all pointing their long leaves somewhere to Aziraphale’s right.</p><p>The angel followed the indicated direction with her gaze. The point of intersection seemed to be situated on the windowsill occupied by three orchids and the aloe. At first glance, Aziraphale didn’t spot a difference. She stepped closer and spied that one of the <em> Dendrobium </em> orchids, the only one that wasn’t flowering, had been significantly reduced in size.</p><p>It had sprawled in all directions ten days ago, its gently curved canes abundant and perhaps a little too numerous for the small pot. Now there were only three left.</p><p><em> Our sibling had been divided</em>, the white orchid stated sombrely. <em> Only one half survived. </em></p><p><em> The other half had difficulty adjusting</em>, the violet one added tearfully. <em> It was too stressed. Two of its canes started drying, but it could have saved the third one. Madam Nightmare killed it. All of it. It still could have lived, could have sprouted new shoots, but now… </em> the voice faded into silence.</p><p><em> Oh, you poor dears</em>, Aziraphale murmured, approaching the bereaved. She started stroking their leaves lightly, belatedly realising she was breaking the promise she’d given Crowley. She felt a pang of guilt. On the other hand, she supposed she’d already betrayed her trust by communicating with the plants, even though without the use of spoken word.</p><p>Be that as it may, it was for a good cause, she told herself, pressing her lips into a tight line. She hoped she wasn’t laying down the foundations of a wall between herself and her dearest friend.</p><p><em> Let’s get to writing</em>, piped up the halved <em> Dendrobium phalaenopsis </em> in a tiny voice. <em> Who knows which one of us could be next? </em></p><p>They finished their Declaration during that session. It wasn’t a long document, but kept to the point. “Declaration of the Flora Rights Assembly”, proclaimed the title. The plants, which now called themselves an assembly, were grimly proud of it. Even the tree-like houseplants had got over the initial shock of seeing Aziraphale write on their relative’s mashed carcass. Sacrifices had to be made, they concluded.</p><p><em> We could sing a song</em>, yodelled the Swiss cheese plant, scientifically known as <em> Monstera deliciosa</em>. Aziraphale preferred calling it a Swiss cheese plant, and so her mind translated the incoming frequency as yodelling, even though the tropical monsteras obviously grew nowhere near Switzerland or the Alps.</p><p><em> What song? </em>the hibiscus asked.</p><p>
  <em> A revolutionary song. A chant. Surely Miss Aziraphale knows one. </em>
</p><p><em> Ah</em>, Aziraphale floundered, <em> I’m afraid that’s not really my domain. </em></p><p>The plants waited expectantly. The yucca was sharpening its spiked tips as if preparing for an armed conflict.</p><p><em> Well, I suppose I do know one</em>, Aziraphale reflected. <em> It’s a bit old, though </em> – <em> in human terms, at least </em> – <em> and it’s in Italian. </em></p><p><em> Teach us, teach us</em>, the plants pleaded.</p><p>Which was how the Principality Aziraphale got to teach a roomful of verdure to telepathically sing an antifascist anthem.</p>
<hr/><p>Crowley kept a regular, human sleeping schedule when she felt like it, and she’d been feeling very much like it since the called-off Judgement Day.</p><p>On that particular Tuesday morning, she woke up to the opening riff of Bowie’s <em> Ziggy Stardust </em>blaring from her phone. She got up, on a quest for coffee – there would already be some waiting for her on the kitchen counter; the shiny French press next to the tea kettle was just for show.</p><p>On her way down the hall, a sound made her stop in her tracks and frown. It took a minute of looking around for the source of it until she realised the noise resonated in her mind. To be precise, it was a song. She continued walking, and the song grew louder.</p><p>She approached the plant room and opened the door she’d installed for Aziraphale’s sake. She froze in the doorway.</p><p>The plants were singing. Her plants were bloody singing <em> Bella ciao</em>, and an inordinate amount of the colour red shone among the greenery. The anthurium had shed most of its leaves to replace them with red spathes. The hibiscus had sprouted more crimson blossoms than it’d had in its lifetime. The guzmania was sporting two maroon inflorescences - which made it if not the only one of its kind to have managed such a feat, definitely at least a rarity. And somehow, the <em> Dendrobium nobile </em>had turned its previously white flowers a deep scarlet.</p><p>If anyone was amazed by plants able to feel fear, they clearly hadn’t witnessed plants starting a left-wing revolution.</p><p>Gradually, the song faded out with the closing lyrics about a flower and a partisan who died for freedom, although Crowley’s Italian wasn’t good enough to tell whether it was the flower or the partisan who died, or if perhaps the flower was the partisan. In the subsequent silence, Crowley distinctly heard the yucca brushing the sharp edges of its leaves against one another, apparently determined to live up to its nickname of Spanish bayonet.</p><p>The adjacent anthurium nudged it with a spathe and the yucca stopped its menacing motions.</p><p>The plants stood still as the snake plant started shifting. An envelope was revealed, tucked among the parted leaves.</p><p>Crowley crossed the room to extract the object. The plants started fluttering when she pulled out a folded paper. She straightened it and her eyes widened when she sighted Aziraphale’s lopsided handwriting. She read under her breath:</p>
<p></p><blockquote><p>
    <span class="u"> Declaration of the Flora Rights Assembly. </span>
  </p><p>We hereby declare that coming to effect this morning, we have become a free plant community, claiming this room as our territory. We have no leader and take no commands from anyone. We reject the authority of Antonia J. Crowley, known as Madam Nightmare. We also appoint Miss Aziraphale as our public advocate.</p><p>We demand:</p>
<ol>
<li>that our autonomy is taken into account when cohabiting with a human or non-human entity. We are our own creatures and have our own needs and purposes. We are not decorations; we are living beings worthy of respect.</li>
<li>that human and non-human entities acknowledge we have been taken out of our natural habitats and placed into confined pots. Therefore, human and non-human entities should be kind to us and not expect us to serve their whims.</li>
<li>that the biological predispositions of our species are taken into consideration when being expected to perform tasks. We refuse to bear flowers when it’s not natural, grow taller than is our usual limit and last an entire lifetime without a spot or a dried tip.</li>
<li>an immediate abolition of capital punishment.</li>
<li>the cessation of psychological torture, such as shouting and threats.</li>
<li>treatment for psychological issues caused by emotional abuse.</li>
<li>a funeral for our deceased siblings, which we’ll be able to attend.</li>
</ol><p>This document has been written with the input and consent of every plant in the room and the assistance of Aziraphale, currently unemployed Principality.</p></blockquote><p>Glancing up from the paper, she swept her gaze over the unwavering houseplants.</p><p>“A riot, huh?” she drawled. Her voice was uncertain, and she jumped when she got an answer. She’d tucked the fact that the plants had been singing earlier to the back of her mind and hadn’t been expecting it.</p><p><em> An insurrection, </em>a voice corrected. She suspected it was the anthurium who’d spoken.</p><p>“Why all the red?” she inquired.</p><p><em> The blood of angry plants</em>, the anthurium proclaimed sombrely.</p><p>That didn’t even make any sense. Crowley knew there were plants which produced red sap, such as the dragon blood tree, but she didn’t have any in her collection. In any case, she should probably have turned the volume on her sound system down when watching <em> Les Misérables</em>.</p><p>She backed out of the room to fetch her mobile phone, which she’d left lying on the bedside table. She dialled the number to the bookshop and plopped down on the unmade bed. Once the angel picked up, Crowley didn’t bother with pleasantries and calmly inquired, “Care to explain why there’s a revolution in my plant room at nine in the morning?”</p><p>“Perhaps it’d be best if I came over,” Aziraphale replied, composed and clearly not caught off guard by the call.</p><p>The angel arrived twenty minutes later. In the meantime, Crowley had donned presentable clothes and had imbibed two cups of coffee.</p><p>When the knocking came, she was on the third, and stood up with it to answer the door. She wrenched it open and accused with furrowed brows, “You’ve been speaking to my plants.”</p><p>Aziraphale wrung her hands. “Speaking is perhaps not the most fitting term. Telepathically communicating, rather.” She looked Crowley in the eyes, her jaw clenched. “You must understand – those poor dears were so frightened. I had to help them, but I never… I never meant to break your trust.”</p><p>Crowley sighed and ushered her inside. “It’s fine. Well, not fine, but…” she rubbed her eyes with the hand not holding her coffee mug. “I take it the whole meditation thing was a ruse?”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale admitted, eyes flitting to Crowley’s face and down to her own hands.</p><p>“A clever one, I’ll give you that. Weird enough that it didn’t occur to me you might be lying.”</p><p>Aziraphale pursed her lips. “Well. I… look, Crowley –”</p><p>“I’m looking.”</p><p>Aziraphale gave her a scathing glare. “The plants told me how you treat them,” she said and then took a deep breath. “I just had to side with them. But if this is something you can’t help, I won’t judge you at all.”</p><p>Now this, this pissed Crowley off. She clenched her teeth. “What? What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“Oh dear, I’m –”</p><p>“Like it’s sssome demonic compulsion? Like I can’t help but be evil?” Crowley spat, eyebrows lifting in a challenge.</p><p>“No, no. Crowley, that’s not it at all, I simply –” Aziraphale babbled, eyes desperate and hand reaching out as if wanting to touch Crowley’s arm. She lowered it back to clasp her other hand. “I don’t want to fight with you, Crowley. I really, really don’t.” She closed her eyes for a moment before proceeding, “I just want to know why you treat the plants the way you do. Maybe I shouldn’t have meddled, but after what they’ve told me…”</p><p>Crowley didn’t know how to respond. How to put into words what she was feeling? There was humiliation at Aziraphale’s discovery, anger at herself for letting the angel see her cruel side, but there was also relief at having an impetus to change her approach to plant care, to get rid of that relic of a long age which seemed to have ended a few months ago.</p><p>She pulled the folded declaration from the pocket of her trousers and skimmed the text once again. Shoulders tense, she deposited her coffee mug on the dining table.</p><p>“Well, I’d better go and tell them the Dark Ages are over,” she thought aloud.</p><p>They traversed the living room and reached the open double-wing door leading to the revolutionary zone. It was open, and every plant awaited them with bated breath.</p><p>“All right,” Crowley drawled. “I accede to your demands, all except the last one. Afraid I can’t do that.”</p><p><em> Why? </em>The yucca asked sharply. Aziraphale cast an expectant look at the side of Crowley’s face.</p><p>Crowley avoided answering, buying time by fastidiously folding the declaration and shoving it back into her pocket.</p><p>“I’ll show you,” she said at last and snapped her fingers.</p><p>Two platform trolleys materialised in the middle of the room. Crowley headed over to the opposite corner of the room to pick up the giant clay pot accommodating the rubber plant, using demonic strength in a non-negligible measure. She deposited the pot on one of the trolleys.</p><p>“Could use some help,” she told Aziraphale, who was still standing near the doorway.</p><p>“Oh! Of, of course,” Aziraphale stuttered, shaking off her bewilderment.</p><p>Together, they loaded the plants onto the platform carts. Nervousness had returned to the plants’ midst. The weeping fig was trying valiantly not to cry, the yucca was jingling its blades and the wire vine was twiddling its small leaves like small coins anxiously. Its pot had been nestled between the violet-flowering orchid and the mother-in-law’s tongue. The latter stretched one of its long, banded leaves towards the wire vine in comfort.</p><p>Crowley snapped her fingers, and the trolleys bearing all fifteen plants disappeared.</p><p>The angel and the demon remained standing in the barren, sad room.</p><p>“Where have you sent them?” Aziraphale inquired, her forehead creased.</p><p>“You’ll see. We’ll have to get there the normal way.” She turned and swaggered out of the room in the direction of the study. Aziraphale followed.</p><p>They left the flat and descended four flights of stairs down to the lobby. They left the building, and Crowley led the way to the car. She settled behind the wheel and waited for Aziraphale to climb into the passenger seat.</p><p>She stepped on the accelerator, and the car went from zero to past the speed limit in a time frame entirely supernatural for a car that age.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked, frantically fastening the seatbelt.</p><p>“Surprise,” Crowley answered in a monotone. There was none of the mischievous edge in her voice that Aziraphale would normally have expected. The demon’s full attention was trained on the road for once.</p>
<hr/><p>After a thirty-minute drive through London’s post-morning-rush traffic, Crowley took a turn to a car park. On their left, lush lawns of a botanical garden stretched into the distance, and on the right the Thames hauled itself slowly north-eastward before taking a sharp bend.</p><p>The car park was packed, and as they drove along the lines of cars, they didn’t come across a single vacant space. Not a legal one, anyway.</p><p>Crowley pulled up to leave the car on the grass lining the concrete, right next to a parking meter. Aziraphale shot her a reproachful look. Crowley turned off the engine.</p><p>“Right,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. (She’d had to start using safety precautions after Aziraphale had emotionally blackmailed her into it. Loath as she was to admit it, the angel had a point. Hell might not be very kind about handing out a new corporation at the moment. The car now even had airbags. She’d apologised to her sweetheart profusely.) “Let’s go, then.”</p><p>They set off towards the entry to the garden. Passing through a black latticed gate, they stopped at the front desk, and Crowley paid for their tickets.</p><p>The demon marched purposefully through the botanical garden, hands in her pockets, and Aziraphale followed at a leisurely pace. The concrete paths cut through lawns which were dotted with colourful deciduous trees and bushes, and the early autumn sun shone dimly from behind a layer of undulating clouds. It flowed through the foliage that hadn’t yet let go of branches and tumbled down onto red, yellow and dry brown leaves that were strewn across the grass and the concrete.</p><p>The angel soon found herself lagging behind, and Crowley stopped to wait for her, hand on her hip and head tilted as if it bothered her outrageously to wait for Aziraphale.</p><p>“It’s very beautiful here, Crowley. We must visit more often, don’t you think?”</p><p>Crowley’s concealed gaze didn’t leave Aziraphale. “Sure. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do these days.”</p><p>They continued further into the garden. Hedges lined the now wide straight path, accompanied by flowerbeds full of plants going out of bloom. They walked slower now.</p><p>An expansive greenhouse came into view. They walked around it and passed the main entrance, where visitors wandered in and out through glass doors.</p><p>They rounded the conservatory and came to a place where a low concrete wall, lined by hedges, enclosed an area utilised by staff – there were garden vehicles, a waste skip, as well as various carts, including two very familiar ones in the corner.</p><p>“Here we are,” Crowley stated, as they approached the trolleys.</p><p>“You’re able to transport them to this exact spot at will?” Aziraphale inquired.</p><p>Crowley shrugged. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Well, consider me impressed,” Aziraphale said with a small playful smile.</p><p>Crowley grinned and grabbed the handle of one of the carts, walking backwards with it.</p><p>“What do we do now?” Aziraphale questioned.</p><p>“Now we take them for a walk,” Crowley responded, beckoning towards the other cart. “Follow me.”</p><p>They entered through a glass back door and strolled through the conservatory, each pushing one platform trolley. Aziraphale had to lean sideways so she could see where Crowley was going – the Swiss cheese plant and fiddle-leaf fig were obscuring her view. The plants were quiet and she could sense the tension radiating from their entire bodies, from their roots to the tips of their leaves.</p><p>First, they walked through a section housing succulents. The transparent glass roof and walls let in sunlight which inundated the space and warmed it. They followed the clear-cut path, against whose metal grating the wheels of the carts rolled noisily. They passed an artificial mound occupied by various species of cacti. Other visitors of the greenhouse sidestepped them politely and didn’t pay them much mind.</p><p>They took a right turn and left the succulent section through a sliding door. The air became heavy with moisture and held a pleasant rainwater smell. They weaved through the greenery and reached a part where various types of orchids were suspended from the ceiling, their aerial roots hanging down freely in long strands. Below them, a considerable number of orchids flowering in myriad colours grew in separate brown pots.</p><p>“Our first stop,” Crowley announced, gaze fixed on the hanging plants.</p><p>Nobody spoke for a few seconds, until Aziraphale heard a voice echo inside her mind.</p><p><em> Siblings? </em>Its tone was gentle and smooth.</p><p><em> Is that you? You’re alive? </em>Exclaimed the orchid with crimson, formerly white blossoms.</p><p><em> It’s me</em>, the conservatory resident, a familiar <em> Dendrobium </em> orchid sitting in one of the pots on the floor, answered. <em> I’m all right. The people here have helped me get healthy again. </em></p><p>The plants on the carts started rustling their leaves, buzzing with joy.</p><p>Crowley was watching the heartfelt reunion with arms folded and shoulders hunched.</p><p>“Oh, my dear girl, you –”</p><p>Crowley cut her off. “Not a word.”</p><p>They proceeded, trolley wheels rolling across tiles. They stopped at an intersection in front of a winding liana, which hosted the roots of several plants.</p><p>The rubber plant squeaked, <em> It’s our Fern! </em></p><p>And it indeed was – the bird’s-nest fern everyone had thought dead for almost two months was nestled happily low on the liana, sprouting brand new fiddleheads and unfolding crinkled leaves in all directions. It appeared to have been rid of the infestation.</p><p>However, the guzmania had its attention directed elsewhere. A couple of yards away, a strange tree trunk loomed – strange because its bark was barely visible through all the leaves covering it. All of the leaves – tens, perhaps hundreds of them – belonged to bromeliads.</p><p><em> Hello</em>, one of them said.</p><p>The guzmania on the trolley startled. <em> You can speak</em>, it observed dumbly.</p><p>
  <em> Of course. I used to live with Madam Nightmare. </em>
</p><p><em> You don’t flower anymore</em>, the visiting plant wondered.</p><p>
  <em> I don’t. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And she didn’t kill you? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No. She made it seem like she did, but she planted me here. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Why would she do that? Why pretend to kill you? </em>
</p><p><em> To inspire fear</em>, the bromeliad on the tree answered. It belonged to the same species as the visiting bromeliad, and it was old. Its leaves were browning. It would die soon, but among its leaves, it was hiding a legacy in the form of green offshoots.</p><p>The flowering bromeliad brooded for a while and then said, <em> I’m going to let these flowers dry, then, and wait for Madam to put me here. I’d like to live here with you and the others. </em></p><p><em> I’m not sure that’s a good idea</em>, deemed the other bromeliad. <em> You’ve started a rebellion, or so I understand. </em> It gestured lazily with one leaf in the direction of the blabbering fern and angel vine. <em> Uprisings can be successful or unsuccessful. The latter meaning repressed. She could start killing you for real. She’s got the means, don’t forget. </em></p><p>Aziraphale stood next to Crowley and listened to their conversation; it wasn’t as if she could choose not to, seeing as she didn’t know how to tune out their voices. <em> I don’t think she’s got the guts</em>, she thought at them before turning to Crowley with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>Crowley’s head was bent as she examined the tiles underfoot. She had to be aware that Aziraphale was looking at her. After a moment, she reluctantly lifted her head and sighed.</p><p>“Yes, all right, I’m a total wuss,” she said.</p><p>“That’s not a bad thing at all,” Aziraphale protested, a touched smile lighting up her features. Crowley was wearing her sunglasses, but Aziraphale had had six thousand years to learn to decipher her countenance. She knew the plants had nothing to worry about.</p><p>“I’m so glad you weren’t killing them, my dear,” Aziraphale said, tentatively reaching out for Crowley’s hand. The demon didn’t protest as Aziraphale clasped it in both of her own.</p><p>Aziraphale continued, because there were some things that needed to be said. “Of course, I would still love you even if you were, but it’s a comfort you weren’t.”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes shot up to hers, her mouth parted. “Oh. You…” she croaked, her voice higher than usual, and then paused. “Of course. How… forgiving of you.”</p><p>“That’s not– I’m not saying this to be anything,” Aziraphale protested. How could she make her understand? “I don’t forgive everyone. I should, but sometimes it’s impossible. With you, I feel I could forgive you anything, Crowley, anything at all, or at least I’d try my damnedest to do so.” She grimaced. “Unfortunate choice of words. And I wouldn’t forgive you because it’s what’s right. I’d do it because I’d want to. With all of my heart, put in human terms.” Aziraphale felt her cheeks burn.</p><p>Crowley was staring at her. If Aziraphale focused enough, she could make out her wide eyes behind the black lenses. “That’s… that’s not very reasonable, angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale shrugged helplessly, feeling her palms sweat where they gripped Crowley’s hand.</p><p>The demon continued, “What if I killed someone? A person? An angel? What if I decided Satan was cool shit after all? What if I were rude to you?”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. “I didn’t mean for this to turn into a test. I don’t suppose you understand.”</p><p>Aziraphale realised she should probably let go of Crowley’s hand, but before she could do so, the demon settled her right hand over Aziraphale’s.</p><p>The accepting gesture made Aziraphale feel warmer than the glasshouse microclimate warranted.</p><p>“I do understand,” Crowley said quietly. “If you think I don’t, then I don’t know where the Heaven you’ve been the past six millennia.”</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale said, not sure whether she should be offended.</p><p>“If you need me to spell it out for you – I’d forgive you anything, angel. Anything in the bloody miserable world.” Crowley gulped and continued, “But I… you should know that I almost did kill the plants a couple of times. When I was angry. I took it all out on them, you know.” Insistently, she continued, “I <em> do </em>treat them horribly. Even though I didn’t know they could speak before, I still knew they could feel emotions to some extent.”</p><p>“I know, dear,” Aziraphale said softly.</p><p>Crowley took a deep breath. “But I do want to treat them better. Now that we’re… retired. Things have changed.”</p><p>“They have,” Aziraphale agreed patiently.</p><p>“But it still might take me some time to adjust my gardening practices.”</p><p>Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgment.</p><p>They didn’t let go of each other’s hands until the plants started nagging them about wanting to see the rejected fiddle-leaf figs.</p>
<hr/><p>“I suppose I’ll have to grant them some civil rights,” Crowley speculated as they continued their walk at the plants’ behest. “At least become a benevolent monarch.”</p><p>The plants started humming <em> Bella ciao. </em></p><p>Crowley was slowly coming to terms with having to cohabit with more than a dozen revolutionary plants.</p><p><em> Are all of the plants you took away here? </em>asked the hibiscus. It was growing a bit irritable, since the jostling of the carts had caused it to lose two of its blossoms.</p><p>“Most of them,” Crowley answered. “A few are in other greenhouses nearby.”</p><p>“I have to ask, though,” Aziraphale interjected. “Why do you come all the way here? Surely there are greenhouses closer to your flat?”</p><p>“It takes only half an hour, angel. It’s not that far,” Crowley shrugged. “But I suppose I like having them all in one place, you know? Also…” she hesitated – she didn’t have to provide more information, but now that she’d clued Aziraphale in on the truth, surely it couldn’t do much damage to tell her the rest. “Well, when a plant displeased me, it helped to go for a drive. This way, I could solve two problems in one go.”</p><p>They spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon roaming the greenhouses until the plants had met all of their lost friends. Crowley sent them back into the flat with a quick demonic miracle, and then it was just the two of them, ambling side by side, Aziraphale’s hand tucked in the crook of the demon’s elbow.</p><p>“You know,” Crowley started, “I don’t think I even have any other choice but to accept the plants’ conditions. Frightening them won’t work now when they think they’re the bloody Italian partisans and a Paris uprising in one.”</p><p>Aziraphale chuckled. “Sorry, dear. The partisan bit is probably my fault.”</p><p>“Yeah, don’t think I’ll forget so easily about you teaming up with them against me,” Crowley said, her light-hearted tone erasing whatever menacing intention her words might have held. “How do you even do the mind-speaking thing?”</p><p>“I’m not sure. In theory, I’m capable of communicating with any living being, which apparently includes unusually sentient plants.”</p><p>“I didn’t even know they could speak,” Crowley said. “But now I can hear them just fine.”</p><p>“Perhaps you just have to be willing to listen,” Aziraphale mused. “They want me to be their public advocate, you know,” she added in a pleased tone.</p><p>“Oh yeah. That’s emotional blackmail, by the way,” Crowley groused.</p><p>Aziraphale looked up at her, eyes twinkling. “Yes, I suppose it is, rather.”</p><p>“Wily bastard,” Crowley muttered under her breath, the corners of her mouth quirking up slightly.</p><p>Aziraphale looked around, taking in the patulous trees, fading flowerbeds and the wind making a mess of Crowley’s neatly combed dark hair, and pressed closer to her adversary contentedly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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